


Puppet Strings

by redspottywellies



Series: Famous Last Words [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Dystopia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redspottywellies/pseuds/redspottywellies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, Arthur isn't actually a moron. The jury's still out where Merlin is concerned. </p><p>The only thing anyone's sure of is that it's all moving much faster than initially anticipated - but this suits Gaius just fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things Which are Better Left Unsaid

**November 2008**

“ _Our top story tonight, small business owner and mother of one Mary Collins has been arrested, pending trial, for acts of sorcery, terrorism and attempted murder, following an incident inside London’s Camelot Technologies industrial park_.”

Arthur leaned forwards on his sofa and stared at the news anchor on the screen. She looked appropriately grave and serious, he thought, but he’d noticed something in her eyes. A flicker. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have said it was fear.

“ _Collins made an attempt on the life of Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon, during a conference on Tuesday morning, having infiltrated the meeting by using magic to take on the appearance of Helen Mora, of Mora Incorporated. Ms Mora herself has been unavailable for comment, but an official statement from Camelot Technologies assures that no casualties have resulted from the incident_.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped. ‘Unavailable for comment’ usually meant dead.

 _“Inquiries have shown Collins to have been a past supporter of the terrorist Nimueh, confirming that the crime was committed in the name of magical supremacy_ ,” the anchor continued. _“Authorities have stated that although Nimueh herself committed suicide in the July of 1988, her agenda continues to be pushed by extremist groups and individuals alike.”_

“But that’s not what it was,” Arthur mumbled to himself, remembering the woman’s screams as she was manhandled into the back of a black van, while he and Uther watched from the conference room window and everyone else studiously ignored what was happening.

An eye for an eye, she’d said. A son for a son. No mention of Nimueh. Nothing about sorcerers reigning supreme. Although, he mused, she had started to say something about Uther’s blindness, his evil, before the black bag had gone over her head.

He shuddered and turned off the TV. He needed a distraction, he decided. He picked up his phone and dialled the number he hadn’t meant to memorize.

Martin sounded distinctly put out when he answered after a few too many rings.

“What?” he asked shortly, his voice scratchy with sleep.

“Honestly Martin, sleeping on the job?” Arthur drawled, already feeling himself relax as he leaned back in his seat and swung his feet up onto the coffee table.

“It’s past ten at night, you prat, and I have to be in early tomorrow. What do you want?”

Arthur realised he had no idea. He paused, frowning.

“Arthur?” Martin’s voice filtered through, sounding slightly concerned now. “Are you ok?”

“Of course I am, _Mar_ tin,” Arthur huffed, rolling his eyes. “I was just trying to decide how to tell you that I need you to stay a little late tomorrow and help me with some filing.”  
He heard Martin curse and felt faintly guilty for a moment. But then-

“You’re such an arse,” Martin told him. “You couldn’t find some other poor sod to cater to your every whim? Considering that I’ve already had to stay late every fucking night this week and that I don’t get paid overtime for any of this?”

“Martin, you may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but surely by now you’ve realised that swearing at your superiors actually doesn’t help your appeals for a more friendly work environment?”

“Whatever,” Martin grumbled. “Will that be all, _sir?”_

It really was remarkable, Arthur mused, how Martin managed to weigh such as small word as ‘sir’ with as much disdain as if he’d been saying ‘you sack of absolute dogshit’.

“Yes Martin, that’ll be all,” he said. “See you in the morning.”

Martin mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘shove it up your arse’ and hung up. Arthur was smiling when he hauled himself up off the couch and went to brush his teeth.

********

Alice’s living room was quiet. There was a fire flickering in the grate, and the radio was playing softly in the background. The curtains were closed against the headlights of the cars rushing past outside, and the old red lampshades gave the room a muted rosy glow. Gaius slumped on the sofa, absently tracing his fingertips along the familiar patterns in the soft, worn chintz material.

“How are things on the inside?” Alice asked quietly, setting a tea tray down on the coffee table and sitting down with a tired groan.

“They could be better,” Gaius replied, sitting back and accepting the cup that was handed to him. “Merlin and Arthur aren’t getting along at all well. I fear this will be more difficult than previously anticipated.”

Alice sighed, sipping her own tea with a meditative expression. “Does he suspect yet?” she asked after a while. “That you’ve been pushing them together?”

“If he does, he hasn’t said anything to me about it. But I suppose that’s one good thing that’s come out of it – I just wanted them to know each other, I never dreamed Uther would give Merlin the PA job. They’re spending so much time together, there may be hope for the prophecies yet.”

“But Arthur will balk if he finds out about Merlin’s true intentions before he finds out about Uther’s.”

“Yes. He needs to find out on his own – about the labs, the resistance, everything. It’s the only way he won’t be convinced he’s being manipulated or controlled. I think he’s on his way, he seems to be spending a lot of time looking through the old files. He came to me the other day asking what I knew about Camelot Tech’s original business plan, why no one can seem to remember.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that in the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters what a couple of young, idealistic men set out to do thirty years ago when the world of business changes so often and so rapidly. He stormed out rather quickly after that.”

Alice let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “You’re worse than Kilgarrah when it comes to giving straight answers,” she said fondly, before her expression took on a note of trepidation. “Are you sure he can be trusted to pick the right side, when he finally figures it out?”

“I’m sure,” Gaius said. “I have to be. We all do, or we’ll lose any hope of ever restoring the balance.”

“And Merlin? When will you tell him the truth?” Alice asked, her mouth set in a hard, worried line. “It’s only a matter of time before he finds out from one of the dragons, or worse, the druids.”

“Gods forbid,” Gaius murmured. He struggled with himself for a moment before finally voicing the fear that had been gnawing at him for some time. “He’ll be angry. He’ll think I’ve been manipulating him. That I’m as bad as Uther.”

“So you’ll help him understand,” Alice said firmly. “All you’ve done is try and protect our people, Gaius. No one can fault you for that.”

“And look at what I’ve achieved,” Gaius said miserably. “It’s my fault we lost Morgana. It’s my fault Kilgarrah was captured. It’s my fault Balinor is dead, and that Hunith hasn’t seen her son for three years-”

 _“No,”_ Alice interrupted fiercely. “No. The fault lies with Uther and Nimueh. It was their feud that started all of this. The only thing you – we – can be accused of is trying to finish it.”

Gaius didn’t reply for some time, and when he did, his voice was determinedly neutral.

“There have been more arrests,” he said. “It’s about to hit the fan again.”

“And we’ll be ready when it does.”

They lapsed into silence once more, staring into the fire.

“Uther’s deteriorating,” Gaius said at last, sadness overwhelming his features. “He’s growing more erratic, more paranoid - I know it’s wrong of me to fear for him, but…”  
He trailed off with a sniff, shaking his head at himself.

“He was your friend, once,” Alice said softly, putting a hand on his arm. “You went through a lot together. It’s perfectly understandable for you to be upset. You’re allowed to feel things, Gaius. Remember that.”

Gaius gave her an approximation of a smile. “I’ll try.”

********

“Martin, hand me that report from the top of the filing cabinet, will you?” Arthur said from where he was sat behind his desk, frowning at some paperwork. “The one in the brown folder.”

Merlin glared at him, and then at the large stack of completely identical brown folders on the cabinet. He took a deep breath in through his nose and counted to ten.

“Going to need a few more descriptors, sir,” he said. “A title, maybe?”

“Oh for god’s sake, I’ll get it myself,” Arthur growled, slamming down his pen and shoving back from the desk. He stormed over and Merlin hurriedly backed away. “What’s the point of having a personal assistant who is completely incapable of actually assisting you?” he muttered as he rifled through the pile and pulled one out, sending a large amount of paper onto the floor.

“Bit hard to sir, when you only give me half-orders,” Merlin grumbled as Arthur stomped back to the desk. He bent down to collect the papers on the floor. “Not a mind-reader, see.”

“Watch your tone,” Arthur snapped, his eyes glued to the page in front of him.

Merlin bit back his retort and straightened the pile on more time before he turned back to face his boss.

“Will that be all, sir?” he asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said without looking up. “Wait,” he added when Merlin turned towards the door.

Merlin turned back once more, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Yes?” he grit out.

Arthur appeared to struggle with himself for a moment, before sighing. “Come and look at this,” he said. “I need a second pair of eyes.”  
He held out an open file.

Merlin approached and studied the proffered papers, alarm quickly flooding in his chest. “It’s an arrest report,” he realised, eyes widening. “Arthur, where the hell did you get this?”

“That’s not important,” Arthur said, surging to his feet and giving the folder an impatient shake. “What do you notice about it? Look carefully.”

Merlin furrowed his brow and scanned over the dense blocks of messy script. “The person was arrested for sorcery,” he said.

“Right,” Arthur nodded. “But there’s something off about it, isn’t there?”

“I…” Merlin trailed off, squinting at the report. “It’s very vague. Aren’t they supposed to recount the specific crimes? Not just ‘acts of sorcery’ and then – whatever the hell that rest of it says. To be honest, that doesn’t even look like real words.”

“Exactly!” Arthur exclaimed, slapping the file down on the desk, looking slightly frantic. “And they’re all like this! Nearly every incident where someone’s been arrested for using sorcery, all the way back to the nineties, maybe even further, none of the ones I’ve looked at so far are legible - so either none of the officers in that department have ever known how to write, or they’re deliberately fudging reports. I need to access the digital files but there’s no, there’s no way to…”

“Um. Are you alright, sir?”

Arthur blinked a few times, looking surprised at his own outburst. He must have caught something in Merlin’s expression, because his face cleared and he slowly sat back down. “Of course I am,” he said, obviously fighting to keep his voice neutral. “I’m just tired. Go and get me a coffee, will you?”

Merlin tried to read Arthur’s sudden change in attitude, and failed miserably. “Yes sir,” he said quietly, and backed out of the room.

 _That’s either going to end very well, or very badly,_ he thought to himself as he jogged down the corridor.

********

Gwaine was behind the bar, trying to balance an unreasonably tall stack of glasses and scratch his nose on the back of his arm at the same time.

The Rising Sun was quiet, a large group of druids having just left after spending a significant portion of the afternoon huddled in the corner, downing neat whiskey like it was water and whispering furiously amongst themselves. Gwaine hadn’t caught much thanks to their muting spells, but he’d always been good at lip-reading. The word ‘Pendragon’ had come up rather a lot. As had ‘schism’. Worryingly, he thought he’d saw someone say ‘Merlin’ once or twice, but didn’t have the chance to dwell, since a particularly unsuccessful attempt to take care of the itch on his nose sent the tower of glasses tipping out of his hands.

Gwaine used the split-second after the sudden shift in gravity to sadly accept his fate and mentally recall where he’d left the broom before a looming shape on the other side of the bar and a quiet ‘whoa’ accompanied a pair of large hands shooting out and catching the tower.

“Evening, Perce,” Gwaine nodded as the builder helped him manoeuvre the stack onto the bar. “How’s tricks?”

“Not bad,” Percival replied when the glasses were safely deposited, stepping back and dropping down onto one of the barstools. Gwaine thought he heard the metal buckle a little. “Actually, scratch that. They’re a bit shit. Budget cuts at the company – load of people just got laid off.”

“Because of budget cuts?” Gwaine said sceptically. “Camelot Tech needs budget cuts? Can they not just use government funding and then have Bayard spin it as an effort towards the war on terror like they did last year?”

“It’s what they told us,” Percival sighed. “I mean, my job’s safe, since I’m still technically with the independent contractor under Rodor, and most of Camelot’s own maintenance staff’s already been culled – just Morris and Ollie left now, poor sods. But security’s taken a hit, and HR.”

“Anyone you know?” Gwaine asked, finding a cloth and starting to wipe down the bar.  
Percival shook his head. “Not really – I mean, I talked the footie a bit with Lance, one of the security guards who got sacked, but-”

He broke off, frowning.

“What?”

“I just… I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense,” Percival said. “All this talk about budget cuts, it’s very sudden, even though half of the buildings in the park are almost in ruins these days. I’ve had four ceiling leaks in one week, doesn’t seem like anyone’s bothered paying for upkeep in years. But then you turn around and the R&D department’s having new storerooms put in. Right dodgy, it is.”

“Storerooms?” Gwaine repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, loads of them,” Percival nodded. “I’m having to go in and help most days. Only, they don’t seem much like storerooms to me – or if they are, they’ve got the weirdest specs I’ve ever seen.”

“What like?”

“Random stuff. Drains in the floors. Silver and iron infused in the doors and walls. Insane levels of soundproofing – can’t hardly hear yourself speak when you’re standing in them. Don’t know what the fuck they’d be storing in there, but – what? Gwaine? You alright?”

“Fine,” Gwaine managed to choke out, pushing down the abject terror rising in his chest. He leaned forwards over the bar, looking around and lowering his voice. “Perce,” he said urgently. “Who else knows about this?”

“I – I’m not sure,” Percival replied, looking surprised at Gwaine’s unusually serious expression. “Most of the other builders, I guess. A few white coats. The higher-ups in R&D. Why, what is it?”

“Could be nothing,” Gwaine said. “But listen, don’t talk to anyone else about this, ok? You’re alright in here, a mate of mine’s got this place warded nine ways to Sunday-” he broke off, once again pushing through a fog of blind panic at the thought of Merlin and what this could mean for him. “But if this is what I think it is, then it’s. It’s dangerous.”

Percival abruptly looked scared. “What kind of dangerous are we talking?” he asked. “The kind where the news has a field day and hordes of protesters send a few buildings up in flames before the mercenaries gun them all down, or the kind where I disappear into a black bag and everyone I know pretends not to notice?”

Gwaine struggled with himself for a moment, unsure how to proceed, and not wanting to scare Percival even more by telling him it was probably both. “Look,” he said. “Just. Stay where you are for now, ok? Don’t react to the weird stuff, don’t draw attention to yourself. As I say, it really could be nothing, but. I need to talk to a friend.”

“This the same friend you’ve got warding your pub?” Percival asked, tapping his fingers in an anxious rhythm against the bar. “The one who makes it so no one working for Uther can even see it?”

“That’s the one,” Gwaine nodded. “He’s good, he is. He’ll know what to do.”

********

“I don’t know what to do,” Merlin said frantically, practically tearing his hair out as he paced the floor of Gaius’ office. “Gwaine says it sounds like they’re building new cells, ones made specifically to hold magic users, or worse – what’s the silver in the walls for, Gaius? Are they catching werewolves now?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Gaius said slowly from where he was sat at his desk, pouring himself another cup of tea. “This is worrying.”

“Worrying?” Merlin repeated incredulously. “ _Worrying?_ Gaius, this is so far past worrying, we can’t even see worrying anymore, worrying is a bloody speck on the horizon! They’re building cells, ones that’ll hold someone like Freya for years. You have to know what that means.”

“I know what it means,” Gaius said, stirring his tea a little more vigorously than usual. “They’ve stopped killing magic users outright. They’ve moved on to long-term experimentation. It’s exactly what I feared. We’re going have to act faster.”

“So what do we do?” Merlin asked, stopping in front of the desk, fists clenched, nails digging hard into his palms. “How the hell do we – I mean, I’m stuck working for the prat, aren’t I? I can’t get anywhere near R&D, not with Arthur on my back all hours of the day and night.”

Gaius stared into space for a long moment, his expression mostly blank, save for the small crease between his eyebrows that indicated he was trying to make a decision. Merlin bit back his impatience and waited, tapping his foot. Finally, the old doctor nodded to himself.

“It may as well be now, he’s already headed in the right direction,” he said. “It’s come more quickly than I anticipated, but – yes. It’s time. Arthur needs to know.”

“Good one,” Merlin said. “But seriously, what do we do?”

Gaius said nothing. He raised his eyebrow. Merlin let out an incredulous noise.

“Are you serious?” he half-shouted, before taking a deep, steadying breath and continuing in a calmer, albeit slightly tremulous voice. “Gaius,” he said. “Please tell me you mean some other Arthur who you’ve got hidden away somewhere, one who hasn’t been indoctrinated with anti-magic propaganda since birth, and who didn’t spend his formative years watching his sister being slowly destroyed from the inside out by things he couldn’t understand. Because there is no logical way on this entire hellscape of a planet that you can possibly mean Arthur Pendragon.”  
When Gaius still said nothing, Merlin let out a breathless, almost hysterical laugh. “Well, that’s me finished, then, isn’t it?” he said. “I’ll just stroll into work one morning, shall I, and fill him in on the mission? ‘By the way, sir, I know you’ve been raised to despise all things magical but can you just put aside your deeply ingrained prejudices for one afternoon and help me free my mates, the profoundly dangerous creatures of magic, from your dad’s secret evil labs? You know, the ones that are draining every other resource the company you’re to inherit has to offer?’ Yeah, that conversation’s bound to end well.”

Gaius glared at him. “Are you quite finished?” he asked.

Merlin scowled and breathed out, collapsing into the chair on the other side of the desk. “Almost,” he said. “This is a really fucking stupid idea. Now I’m finished.”

“Good,” Gaius said, leaning forwards and clasping his hands on the desk in front of him, peering sternly at Merlin over his glasses. “You’re not telling him outright, you clot. That would be idiotic. You’d be blackbagged before you can say ‘eighteen tons of angry vengeful dragon’, and we’d be right back up shit creek without a paddle. This is a precarious situation, and must be handled delicately.”

“Delicately,” Merlin repeated blankly. “Right. Of course. And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“You need to let Arthur find out on his own,” Gaius said, as if it were obvious. “Prod him in the right direction so he unearths the truth for himself and sees the horror of what’s happening first-hand.”

“What difference would it make?” Merlin grumbled, staring at his lap. “Even if he did find out on his own, he’d probably just agree with what Uther’s doing. He really hates magic – fuck sake, he was almost _murdered_ by a sorceress a few weeks ago.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” said Gaius. “Didn’t you say yourself the other day that he’s been asking strange questions, looking through old police files? And I know for a fact that he’s aware that Bayard and half of parliament is in Uther’s pocket, Gwen’s had a look through this search history. He’s been researching how ministers used to be elected, how long they were allowed to stay in power, things like that. You can’t deny, he knows something is off.”

Merlin shrugged, not looking up. Gaius sighed.

“Look,” he said. “If Arthur does hate magic – and I really don’t think he does – it’s because he’s experienced nothing but loss at its hands. His mother, his sister, even his father, in some ways – the parts of Uther that would have loved his son properly, were he not driven by revenge and increasing mania. It’s up to you, Merlin, to find a way to show Arthur the other side of things. He’s a good man, at his core. I wouldn’t have stayed here for this long if I didn’t believe that.”

Merlin continued scowling at his knees for another moment, before relenting. “Maybe,” he conceded. “I suppose there’s a chance he’s not a prat all the way to his marrow. But still. How do I _do_ it?”

“Gods above, boy, do I have to think of everything? Use your imagination.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will probably need to come back and edit this, but just wanted to get something out there. On a completely unrelated note, writer's block can go die in a hole.


	2. Subtle as a Flying Brick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence in this chapter, nothing too graphic I think, but probably with too much swearing. Sorry.

“Shit shit shit, bloody fucking shit,” Gilli chanted as he sprinted through the derelict council estate, the sound of his footfalls ricocheting wildly off the walls of the alleyways and empty buildings.

The griffin was screeching from somewhere overhead, but the echoes were making it impossible to pinpoint the source of the din. He’d lost track of Aithusa and Edwin in the dark, but he could hear them both over the earpieces that had been cobbled together by Gwen and magically cloaked by Alice earlier that evening.

“Have either of you got eyes on?” he panted as he dodged a pile of rubble left over from the council’s half-hearted attempt to demolish the condemned estate a few years ago. The crystal he’d been given containing a blast of tranquilising magic was heavy in his pocket, knocking against his thigh as he ran.

 _“Nothing yet,_ ” Edwin replied, his voice equally breathless and crackling over the shaky radio connection. _“Wait, yeah, shi- oh. Never mind, it was a fox.”_

 _“Getting a signal from the safe-house, I’m patching them in,”_ said Aithusa - the only one not sounding completely winded, Gilli noticed. Bloody dragons.

There was a rush of static, and Iseldir’s voice filtered through.

_“The decoy is working. Gwen’s managed to divert the mercenaries’ attention outside the city centre, and Alice is holding them there – they’re currently chasing a projection of what they think is the griffin around the regional park in Colne Valley. You’re safe to take the shot. What’s your status?”_

“We’ve got it cornered in the council estate,” Gilli wheezed, charging up a set of stone stairs, taking them two at a time. “But it’s hiding away somewhere making an almighty racket. We’re trying to get it in our line-of, but the thing’s like a bloody wet bar of soap, keeps slipping away.”

 _“Gil, hate to be rude, but can you save the metaphors and poetry for a situation in which we’re less likely to be clawed to death by a giant angry bird-cat?”_ Aithusa barked.

“You don’t get to complain,” Gilli retorted, ducking behind the stone wall that ran along the first floor balcony for a breather. “If you hadn’t been so bloody loud and brought it screaming down on us before we got a chance to cast your distortions, you’d have been able to shift and overpower it and we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

_“Fuck off, you’re the one that had bacon for dinner, you stink of the stuff and it’s starving, what did you think was going to happen?”_

_“Shut it, you two,”_ Edwin snapped. _“We don’t have time for this. Where are you both now?”_

“First floor balcony on the north side, overlooking the main square,” Gilli replied, poking his head over the top of the wall and scanning the dark estate. “No sign of it, I think it’s higher up.”

 _“Third floor, opposite side,”_ Aithusa said. _“Gil’s right – I think it’s got itself backed into one of the flats up here, half the walls are smashed in and I don’t think it’s from the demolition. Ed, are you still on the ground?”_

 _“Yeah,”_ Edwin replied. _“Coming up to the main square now, east side. What’s your plan?”_

 _“If I can close in on it and scare it across to the balcony on the other side, it’ll give you a clear shot as it flies over the square,”_ Aithusa said. _“I just need to shift for a minute or two.”_

 _“Absolutely not!”_ Edwin exclaimed, his blond head just visible from where he’d taken cover behind a cluster of wheelie bins. _“That’s way too risky - you don’t have your distortions on, what if you get picked up on the scanners? Or if someone hears you and calls in the mercenaries?”_

 _“I’ll stay under cover, I won’t come out in the open,”_ Aithusa replied. _“These buildings are old as shit, I’d bet my tail the roof tiles are made of lead, they’ll block Camelot’s scanners no problem. I just need to get one good roar in, if Gil can strengthen the muting spells.”_

“I can do that,” Gilli confirmed. “I’m in a good position.”

There were a few moments of silence while Edwin struggled to make a decision.

 _“Ed, have you got a better idea?”_ Aithusa demanded.

 _“No,”_ he admitted. _“Iseldir, are you still there? What do you think?”_

 _“I don’t have eyes on the situation, it’s impossible for me to judge,”_ Iseldir replied, though he sounded worried _“You’re taking point on this one, Edwin. Make the call.”_

There was another pause. The griffin let loose another ear-splitting screech from above, almost breaking through the sound barriers they’d put in place before the mission.

“Ed, make the call!” Gilli shouted, already building another muting spell in his mind, feeling the rush of power drawing into his bones from his father’s ring.

Edwin sighed, audibly steeling himself.

_“Do it.”_

_“Good,"_ Aithusa said. _"Gilli, muting spell, now. See you on the other side, gents."_ A clunking sound indicated that she’d dropped her earpiece while she prepared to shift.

Gilli raised both hands and fired his spell towards the sky, watching the greyish smoke hit the top of the invisible dome and wash downwards as it worked itself into the fabric of the wards.

From overhead there was a series of crashes and bangs, followed by a beat of tense silence, before a deafening roar reverberated through the estate and sent Gilli ducking back behind the wall out of sheer instinct, hands over his ears.

He leapt up as the roar died away and the griffin came bursting out from the third floor balcony, sending a rain of smashed concrete crashing to the ground and the wheelie bins dotted around the square scattering like skittles with the wind caused by the force of its beating wings. Gilli had half an instant to see Edwin being tossed to the ground along with them, before he realised that the griffin had angled itself downwards, and was aiming straight for him.

His stomach dropped.

“Ed, take the shot!” Gilli shouted, skittering backwards and tearing back along the balcony towards the stairs. “ED!”

There was no answer from the other end other than a groan. There was nothing from Iseldir either – the connection with the safe-house must have dropped, Gilli realised. He cursed and scrabbled in his pocket for his own crystal, trying to recall the list of instructions Iseldir had given him.

“Hold it in one hand,” he recited as he crashed down the steps. “Aim at the opponent. Draw the magic back like an arrow, say the incantation, and let it loose. Come on.”

His earpiece crackled, and Aithusa’s voice came through over the channel.

_“Gilli, what’s happening?”_

“Oh, thank fuck,” Gilli gasped as he sprinted through an alley, grateful for the semblance of cover provided by the narrow walls but still almost falling over as the griffin overhead beat its wings again. “Ed’s down, the griffin’s pinpointed me, it’s chasing me towards the square. Can you get a clear shot?” 

 _“Yeah,”_ she replied. _“Yeah, think so, just – ok, draw it into the open, then dive straight back under cover while its own momentum carries it forwards.”_

“On it.”

Gilli reached the mouth of the alleyway and launched himself forwards with as much force as he could muster, almost freezing from the cold wind that engulfed him from behind now that there was nothing between him and the griffin.

It took him a split-second to realize that it wasn’t overtaking him, that the plan wasn’t going to work, and that he had no other option but to let it chase him across the square and pray to whoever was watching that he was fast enough.

He put on an extra spurt of speed and raced out into the open, wincing at Aithusa’s shout in his ear.

_“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”_

“Change of plan!” he yelled. “Do it now!”

Aithusa bellowed the incantation. There was a blinding flash of blue as the magic streaked down from above, and the griffin gave an almighty screech as it was knocked sideways into the building opposite.

 _“Shit, I only got one wing!”_ Aithusa shouted. _“Fucker’s moving around so much, I can’t get another shot in!”_

“Might be enough!” Gilli yelled back, twisting to glance over his shoulder as he ran, registering the griffin on the ground, hauling itself to its feet and shaking its head like a dog. It looked up, and its eyes locked with Gilli’s. “Oh, fuck,” he rasped, just as it surged forwards and bounded after him.

He’d made it to about halfway across the square and he could feel the griffin’s breath on the back of his neck, when there was a shout from somewhere to his left.

“Here!”

A tall figure had appeared on the other side of the square, stood on top of a pile of rubble, holding something over their head. Before Gilli could react, the stranger reeled back their arm, and a brick came flying across, straight towards the griffin. Gilli new from the thud and answering squawk that it had met its mark.

He looked around again and saw that the creature had diverted its course, and was now aiming for the brick-thrower. _  
_

_“Who the fuck is that?”_ Aithusa bellowed, accompanied by the sound of pounding feet which told Gilli she was running down from the balcony.

“No fucking clue, but it’s not Ed!” Gilli answered over the piercing noise of talons on concrete as the griffin clawed furiously at the ground, dodging another flying brick.

_“Well don’t just bloody stand there, take it down!”_

“Right!”

Gilli fumbled with the crystal and took aim.

“Draw it back…” he mumbled, feeling the magic stretch along his forearm, taut as a bowstring. His ring was burning hot around his finger.

He took a deep breath and roared the incantation. The magic blasted forth, sending him stumbling backwards with the force of it. The griffin, still screeching, was engulfed in blue light for an instant, before its legs gave out and it fell to the ground with an anticlimactic ‘flump’.

A deafening silence fell over the council estate.

Gilli dropped to his knees. “Fucking hell,” he said.

Behind him, there was a groan, and the sound of a wheelie bin being shoved aside.

“What’d I miss?” asked Edwin.

********

 

Arthur knew he was being childish.

Childish and stupid, for that matter.

Twenty four years old, and he was literally listening in on one of his father’s meetings like he had as a small boy, hovering around the keyhole of the study door, hoping to hear something exciting. The only difference was that now he was sat alone in his darkened office in the middle of the night, watching footage from the small camera he’d managed to conceal in Uther’s office during their debrief that afternoon, cursing himself for not buying one with better audio, and repressing an immense amount of guilt.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes against the grainy image on the screen in front of him.

He thought he heard something shuffle in the corner behind him, but when he whipped around in alarm there was nothing there. Shaking himself, he turned back to the screen.

Uther and Agravaine were conferring in low voices, just a little too quiet for the camera’s microphone to pick up, apart from the occasional word. Arthur focused again, and twiddled the volume dial on his speakers again. Suddenly, there was a click, and the voices were thrown into sharp relief. Arthur frowned, not sure how he’d done it, before shrugging and focusing on Uther’s conversation again.

He ignored how the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.

 _“… Been some problems with the refurbishment,”_ Agravaine was saying. _“Some of the builders seem suspicious. It may only be a matter of time before someone realises what those rooms are really for, sir.”_

 _“It doesn’t matter,”_ Uther dismissed. _“As long as Cenred and his mercenaries do their jobs, they won’t say anything, even to each other.”_

 _“But sir,”_ protested Agravaine, clearly shocked. _“What if one of them is a member of the resistance? Surely it’s not worth the risk-”_

 _“The resistance is just hearsay,”_ Uther growled. _“I’ve yet to see any evidence that such an organisation has existed since_ she _vanished.”_

 _“Surely last year’s incident was proof enough,”_ Agravaine insisted. _“Her followers are still out there, Morgana herself-”_

 _“Agravaine,”_ Uther interrupted, his voice dangerously low. _“You may have been my wife’s brother. But if I hear you mention that name in this context ever again, rest assured that you will not live to see another sunrise. Do I make myself clear?”_

 _“…yes sir,”_ Agravaine mumbled, clearly terrified.

Arthur was vaguely aware that his hands were shaking a little. He’d seen his father angry plenty of times, it was true – but to hear him so calmly deliver a threat like that, to his own brother-in-law…

And what did Morgana have to do with this? Why had hearing her name made Uther so angry? As far as Arthur had known, his father hadn’t even cared when Morgana disappeared, hadn’t even mentioned her for the past - god, had it really been nine years?

At least, he thought to himself, she was alive. He’d never let himself dwell on the thought. The alternative had been too unbearable to contemplate.

His chest hurt at the memory of being fifteen years old and suddenly without a sister, so he pushed it down, blinking hard, and returned his attention to the meeting, scowling when he realised that it had ended while he was distracted. Agravaine was gone, and Uther was sat at his desk, rubbing his temples, looking exhausted.

Arthur slammed the lid of his laptop down and sat back, passing a hand over his face.

He didn’t notice when a floorboard near the door creaked quietly. Or how the door itself rippled slightly, as if something had passed through it.

********

The potion hissed in the tupperware box as Merlin added Gaius’ hair and wafted the steam away impatiently with one hand. He shifted uncomfortably, the hard floor of the men’s toilets making his knees hurt as he knelt over his pre-made concoction.

He double-checked the muting spells he’d put around the door when he’d come bursting in after slipping out of Arthur’s office, hoping he hadn’t been noticed. He always forgot about that floorboard.

The steam cleared at last.

“Message begins,” he whispered. “Password: fairy vomit. Arthur knows. He listened in on Uther’s meeting with Agravaine via hidden camera. Recommend that any questions concerning Morgana and the resistance are deflected until we know for sure he won’t do anything else that stupid. Everyone’s covers are intact so far. Message ends.”

********

Lance was trying not to freak out.

He thought he was doing rather will, given the fact that he’d spent the past half hour hiding in the front room of the abandoned council flat he’d been squatting in, watching out of the window while a magical battle raged overhead. And that was even before he’d taken on a monstrous creature head-to-head, in the dark, armed with only a pile of bricks and his admittedly rather good throwing arm.

And he’d thought he’d been having a bad week when Pendragon’s cuts had claimed both his job and his flat in the space of three days. Hoo boy, had he not seen this coming.

The three who’d been tearing around the estate, trying to catch the monster and breaking about a thousand laws in the process, were staring at him warily over the thing’s prone form. One of them had produced a glowing ball of yellowish light, which was hovering a few feet overhead. Between that, the brown-haired young man’s earlier display of violent magic, the blond man’s rather alarming facial scar and the young woman’s apparent ability to somehow produce a roar louder than a plane taking off, this was rather disconcerting.  
He cleared his throat.

“Hi?” he ventured. They didn’t react. He tried again. “I’m Lance,” he said.

The trio stared at him for another moment. Finally, the brown-haired man stepped forwards.

“Lance,” he nodded. His voice seemed much younger than the rest of him. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for saving my life, I suppose.”

“I – you’re welcome?” Lance shrugged. “It was nothing. Um. Who are you?”

The trio exchanged a glance.

“May as well,” the blond man shrugged. “He knows what we look like, and he’s seen us do magic. That’s enough for most bounty hunters to go on. Besides, we’ll probably end up wiping his memory anyway.”

“What?” Lance asked, eyes widening with panic. He was ignored.

“Good point,” the woman said to her companion, before turning back to face Lance. “I’m Aithusa,” she said, before gesturing to each of the men in turn. “That’s Gilli, and that’s Edwin.”

Lance desperately hoped he hadn’t just saved the lives of a group of evil sorcerers, despite the fact that this was looking increasingly probable by the minute. He offered them a shaky nod.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you going to let me leave here alive?”

The blond one – Edwin – gave him a surprised, appraising glance.

“He’s a smart one,” the woman now known as Aithusa said approvingly.

“You’re not helping,” the other one, Gilli, told her, before turning back to Lance, an unnervingly friendly expression on his face. “We have ways of making sure you don’t talk that don’t involve murder,” he said. “Most of them are relatively painless. But we do need you to stay where you are for the moment.”

Lance nodded mutely, trying not to look too terrified.

“Good man,” Edwin said. “Now. You’re going to see my colleagues and I perform some more highly illegal acts of sorcery – don’t worry, no one will get hurt, not even the griffin – and then you’re going to come with us back to our HQ so we can decide what to do with you. Ok?”

“That is not very reassuring,” Lance told him, feeling quite proud of how steady his voice was.

Edwin shrugged and turned away. “Distortions?” he said to his colleagues.

Gilli nodded, and Aithusa rolled her eyes. She walked backwards a few paces until she was standing several feet away from the other two. She tilted her head back and brought her hands out of her pockets.

“I hate this bit,” she grouched at the dark sky. “Oh, wait,” she added, shoving her hair over her shoulder and revealing an earpiece, which she tugged off and threw to Edwin. “Take that, Gwen’ll kill me if I ruin it. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Stop whining,” Gilli said, raising his hands with his palms facing out towards her. Edwin put the earpiece in his pocket and did the same.

Lance frowned. “Sorry, but what’re you-”

He was cut off as the two men let loose twin jets of what looked like greenish water, straight from their palms. Lance tried to back away, but found he couldn’t move, though he didn’t know if this was due to some kind of spell or just sheer terror. He watched fearfully as the water engulfed the woman from head to toe, obscuring her from view.

After about a minute, the men lowered their hands and the water stopped. Aithusa was left standing there, dripping wet and swearing.

“Fucking ridiculous, don’t see why the olds can’t come up with a better way to do that,” she muttered, wringing out her hair.

“Maybe they will if you stop calling them the olds,” Edwin commented. “Come on now, there’s not much time. Elena’s expecting you - you remember where you’re taking it?”

“Obviously,” Aithusa retorted, kicking off her shoes.

Lance almost asked what she was doing, but snapped his mouth shut when she started tugging her shirt over her head. He hurriedly diverted his gaze to the ground, seeing Edwin and Gilli doing the same out of the corner of his eye. Aithusa snorted as she threw her sodden clothes in a pile at their feet.

“Humans,” she muttered.

Then she exploded.

Or at least, that’s what Lance thought had happened for a split second, until he registered that there was now a large white dragon crouched where Aithusa had been standing moments before.

“Um.”

********

The atmosphere hanging over the kitchen at safe-house 3 was subdued. Iseldir was pacing the length of the room. Gwen was sat at the table, trying to coax a response out of the radio connected to the others’ earpieces. Alice was making a pot of tea – she’d arrived back twenty minutes earlier, shivering from the cold and explaining how the mercenaries had realised that they were chasing a projection much sooner than anticipated.

“I managed to disappear before they clocked on that I was there, but it gives the others a lot less time to finish the mission,” she’d explained, her mouth set in a hard, worried line.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Gwen said now, her attempt at optimism somewhat dampened by the pinched expression that had been on her face ever since the connection had cut out, just as Aithusa had started roaring, leaving them in tense, worried silence. “They got the wards up ok, and there’s still twenty minutes until the cut-off point.”

Iseldir nodded, but he didn’t stop pacing. Gwen sighed and put the radio down, sitting back to stretch.

Silence fell again, broken only by the sound of Alice stirring sugar into her tea in. Finally, after what seemed like an age, the radio crackled into life.

_“Hello? Can you hear me?”_

“Edwin?” Gwen yelped, diving for the radio. “Oh, thank fuck – are you ok?”

 _“We’re all fine,”_ Edwin confirmed. _“The griffin’s down, Aithusa’s taking it to the sanctuary as agreed, Gilli and I are getting ready to come back.”_

“Excellent,” Iseldir said, coming up to stand behind Gwen’s chair. “Any problems?”

 _“Kind of. We’ve picked up a witness,”_ Edwin said, sounding uneasy. _“He saved Gil’s life, but we don’t know his motives. We thought we’d bring him back with us, none of us have enough juice left to perform a memory wipe right now.”_

“I suppose that’s the best option,” Iseldir sighed. “We could always bring Merlin in for a power boost if things are desperate, although I think he’s busy with his own mission at the minute. Do what you have to do, but be quick about it. The mercenaries are heading back into the city as we speak.”

 _“Copy that,”_ Edwin said. _“Be with you in a tick.”_

The earpiece clicked off again, presumably to avoid damaging it in transit.

“One day,” Gwen muttered. “I’ll find a way to stop electronics exploding when people try to disappear with them switched on.”

“Keep at it,” Iseldir agreed, clapping her on the shoulder.

True to Edwin’s word, barely a minute had passed before the tell-tale whoosh of someone appearing could be heard from the back yard. Alice opened the back door just as Edwin and Gilli came tumbling over the threshold, dragging a tall, dark-haired man in their wake.

“Sorry,” Gilli apologised as soon as the door was shut and the wards had knitted themselves back together, dumping an armful of wet clothes that must have been Aithusa’s on the mat. “There were some unforeseen issues.”

“You mean like Aithusa having to shift without her distortions on?” Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or coming back with a whole extra person?”

“Both,” Gilli admitted. “That and Edwin’s inability to handle a knock to the head,” he added, jerking his thumb at Edwin, who did indeed have a large bruise flourishing over his forehead.

“You know what? You try getting hit by a flying wheelie bin, see how quickly you get up,” Edwin said, glaring.

“Thanks, but I’d rather not,” Gilli replied, unconcerned. “This is Lance, by the way. Saved my life with a brick.”

“Lance?” Iseldir repeated, frowning. Something about the name tugged at a memory at the back of his mind. He stared at the man’s face, waiting for it to click into place. When it did, he smiled and offered his hand to the stranger, who was looking increasingly confused and alarmed by the second. “My name is Iseldir. It’s good to meet you.”

Lance shook his hand, his grip firm, if a little shaky for a man with a destiny such as his. “Hi,” he said. “Likewise.”

“This is Alice,” Iseldir continued, gesturing to the woman in question, who sent him a small, worried smile from where she was examining Edwin’s bruise. “And this is Gwen.”  
Lance looked past Iseldir, his eyes widening when they landed on Gwen, who was rising slowly from her seat at the table, staring at him.

“Hi,” Lance said again, looking awestruck.

“Hi,” Gwen returned, breathless. She gave a hesitant smile, and Lance flushed, ducking his head with a grin.

Edwin looked between them and groaned.

“That’s just great,” he said. “Alright for some, isn’t it?”

Gwen managed to drag her gaze away from Lance’s face to blink at him confusedly.

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I know absolutely fuck-all about science and technology, so any description of those things in this fic are going to be about as realistic as the magic.


	3. The Very Slipperiest of Slopes

 “You’re brooding again, sir.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been staring at that same report for twenty minutes. You’re brooding.”

Arthur sighed and flipped the report shut, sitting back to glare at his assistant. Martin was shuffling around the office, humming tunelessly as he ran a duster over the tops of the filing cabinets.

“Aren’t you supposed to wait until the end of the day to start cleaning?” Arthur asked.

“It is the end of the day, you prat,” Martin said, not looking up. “It’s gone half six.”

Arthur scoffed in disbelief and glanced at his watch, stopping short when he realised Martin was right.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Martin said. “Told you you were brooding. You want to talk about it?”

“Not with you,” Arthur snorted.

He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of getting Martin involved in the mess that was rapidly becoming his life. The poor idiot couldn’t keep a secret to save his own skin – according to the receptionists’ gossip, he’d already almost messed up the office Secret Santa by forgetting whose name he’d pulled. Apparently he’d on a very loud rant at Gwen down in IT about all the brilliant ideas for presents he’d thought up that he wouldn’t be able to use, before abruptly remembering that he’d gotten Mithian, who’d been sat at the next desk over and listening intently.

Arthur looked at his PA again, feeling a pang of something similar to envy. Martin was lucky, he thought, to have no idea how horribly wrong the world had gone. No idea what kind of people he was working for, ones who believed that slightest hint of magical ability was enough to condemn a person to life in prison, even death.

It was senseless, he’d decided. If Uther’s views on magic had any real logic to them, surely they’d be able to come up with legitimate reasons to persecute these people, instead of just painting them all as followers of Nimueh – especially since Arthur couldn’t find any evidence that the phrase “magical supremacy” had been used in the media by anyone other than Uther and his friends in high places since the early 1990s.

Arthur churned this over in his mind. It was possible that Nimueh’s followers had gone to ground within the first few years after her death, and were now a sleeping giant waiting for an opportunity take control of the country. It would explain Uther’s crusade, even if it didn’t justify it – Arthur had read enough about Nimueh to shudder at the thought of the followers of a zealot like that in any position of power.

But then – why did Uther then deny that any kind of resistance movement could exist when he spoke to Agravaine? Could it be possible that he was doing all this out of his own prejudice? Arthur frowned, trying to reconcile the idea of his cold, calculating father being so irrational as to let his own clouded judgement lead the country into the state it was in now, with people living in more or less constant fear, being incarcerated without trial, or else disappearing into black bags, never to be seen again.

Arthur shook his head violently, trying to clear his thoughts.

“Good thing that hair of yours isn’t really a wig,” Martin commented from the other side of the room. “Would have flown right off just now. You sure you’re alright, sir?”

“I’m fine,” Arthur snapped. Then he paused. “What do you mean, _really_ a wig?” he asked, squinting at his assistant. “As if you weren’t sure before?”

Martin blinked, his face far too innocent. “Nothing,” he said, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Martin.”

“Right. Um. Just a rumour floating round, that’s all.”

“That I wear a wig.”

“People have a hard time believing you achieve that level of neatness with your real hair, sir,” Martin explained. “It’s kind of ridiculously neat. I’m talking robot-person neat. Speaking of, there’s also a rumour going round that you’re a cyborg and therefore feel no pain, so you might want to stub your toe or something next time you’re making the rounds, put people’s minds at rest.”

“I’ll add it to my to-do list,” Arthur deadpanned. “Is that all?”

“I’ll tell you if I think of anything else.”

“Please do.”

Martin grinned and went back to his dusting. Arthur slumped forward with his elbows on the desk and rubbed his eyes, allowing himself to return to the mire of his thoughts.

He decided to just pick one aspect of the problem and go from there. He frowned, replaying Uther and Agravaine’s conversation in his head. One issue kept snagging on his thoughts, like a splinter – why was Agravaine so het up about some refurbishment project? And what had that to do with a resistance movement that may or may not exist?

To Arthur’s knowledge, the only refurbishment project in progress right now was the one in the R&D department’s labs. He’d look into that first. The other option was Morgana, and he didn’t want to touch that subject with a ten foot pole. Better to start with something easy.

********

**August 1983**

“Are you really sure you don’t mind?” Balinor asked again, sounding wracked with guilt even over the phone.

“Balinor,” Gaius sighed, leaning back in his desk chair and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You know as well as I do that even if I wasn’t ok with it, which I am, my disapproval would have absolutely no effect over whether or not you went on a date with my sister. In fact, if she found out you’d even asked me about it, she’d have both our heads. Hunith does not do old-fashioned.”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“Balinor,” Gaius repeated, growing impatient. “We are far too old for this. She likes you. You like her. Just accept that, go on your date and be done with it. I have no say here.”

He couldn’t see it, but he knew his friend well enough to know that Balinor was now beet-red and grinning at his shoes like an idiot.

“She truly likes me?” he said a moment later, as if he’d read Gaius’ mind.

Gaius groaned. “Yes, yes, she likes you,” he said wearily. “She won’t shut up about you, actually, or you about her, it’s rather exhausting.”

Balinor made a flustered kind of noise. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding even remotely apologetic. “I’ll shut up.”

“Do that,” Gaius agreed. “Have a good time tonight.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Balinor replied, the suggestive grin in his voice far too audible.

“Ugh. I’m hanging up now,” Gaius said, and did so, but not fast enough that he didn’t hear Balinor’s whoop of joy before the phone clicked off.

Shaking his head over his friend’s ridiculousness, he returned his attention to his work, letting himself be absorbed in his new designs for alarm systems that incorporated Balinor’s new idea for sensors that picked up on whether a person had recently used dark magic. As he wrote himself a reminder to consult with legal about the ethics of developing something similar to sense if a person was bearing magic with ill-intent as they entered a building, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called, his attention still on the page in front of him as the door opened.

“Gaius,” Uther said from the threshold.

Gaius looked up. His heart sank when he registered the look on Uther’s face. “What is it?” he asked, mentally waving goodbye to another hour of his workday. “Did you have another fight with Igraine?”

“Not exactly,” Uther said, shifting uncomfortably as he stepped into the office and approached the desk. He was holding something behind his back. “But I – ah. Look, if I show you something, will you promise not to tell anyone? Not even Emrys?”

“Depends what it is,” Gaius said. “And just to warn you, I’m not looking at any strange rashes, you have a GP for that-”

“Oh no, no, nothing like that,” Uther said quickly, looking mildly horrified at the idea. “No, I, I’ve been working on something, but I’m not sure how well-received it will be, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to Gorlois, he’s so busy with Vivienne and the new baby-”

“Ah yes, how are they? Did they decide on a name yet?”

“Yes – Morgana,” Uther said with a somewhat strained smile. “They’re well. Gorlois is the happiest I’ve ever seen him. But that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

“No,” Gaius agreed. “You’ve been working on something? Does this have to do with your research into weapons manufacture? Because I’ve told you my stance on that, Uther-”

“Just listen,” Uther said. He brought his arm around from behind his back at last, revealing that he was holding a sheaf of rolled-up papers, held together with an elastic band. “Do you remember that friend of mine in the military, Olaf Bainbridge?”

“The major? Yes, he was at the last conference, wasn’t he? Gave that presentation on finding the points of overlap between technology and magic when it comes to subduing tactics.”

“That’s the one,” Uther nodded. “I’ve been consulting with him a little on the side, and I think we’re onto something.”

Gaius raised his eyebrows, unsure where this was going. “Go on,” he said.

Uther pulled the elastic band off from around the papers and unrolled them on the desk, using Gaius’ stapler and hole-punch to stop the ends curling up. Gaius leaned forwards to study them. They were rough sketches, labelled in Uther’s neat copperplate, with parts crossed out and drawn over, as if they’d been revised several times. Gaius frowned when he realised what they were.

“Designs for weapons?” he asked.

“Against magic-users,” Uther nodded. “Just some preliminary ideas – mostly non-lethal, designed to wound, not kill, but Olaf thinks we’re on the right track.”

Fear flared in Gaius’ gut, coupled with an immense amount of relief that he’d chosen never to tell Uther about his own sorcery. He’d been afraid of something like this.

He quickly schooled his features, hoping that Uther had read his expression as one of surprised interest, not horror. He scanned over the plans again, catching labels like ‘neutralise’ and ‘energy-draining’. Putting his hands under the desk to hide the fact that they were shaking, he looked up at Uther, whose expression was caught between hesitant and defensive.

“Uther,” Gaius started, swallowing in an effort to conceal the tremor in his voice. “What…? I mean. Why would you even need these?”

“You’ve seen the news,” Uther said quietly. “The clashes up north, all the trouble between Pagans and Christians – it’s only a matter of time before it becomes a national issue. And as long as they have something we don’t, we’re in danger.”

“But those conflicts are a matter of faith, not magic,” Gaius protested. “Monotheism and polytheism, the same as it’s always been. Why would you choose now to-?”

He broke off, gears whirring in his head. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” he asked. “Is this about Nimueh?”

Uther flinched and looked down. Gaius knew he’d hit the nail on the head. He waited for Uther to muster up a reply.

“She’s been coming to see Igraine more often,” Uther mumbled at last. “Since our fight last autumn – Igraine’s been dabbling again, small charms and potions, things like that. She’s been feeling so low ever since the miscarriage, and now Vivienne’s given birth it’s gotten worse. I’ve told her it’s because of the magic - it has to be, it toys with things that shouldn’t be toyed with, but she says it helps. That Nimueh helps.”

“Uther, they’ve been friends since childhood, of course Nimueh would want to support Igraine if she’s depressed again, especially after they’ve been so distant the past few years. But what’s that got to do with-?”

“I’ve heard Nimueh talking,” Uther said. “She’s been waxing lyrical to Igraine when she thinks I can’t hear, all these ideas about the old ways, the ‘right order of things’, as she says it. I think she’s planning something. I want to be ready for whatever it is.”

“That’s all you have to go on?” Gaius asked incredulously. “A few whispered conversations and an irrational mistrust of your wife’s best friend? Uther, you’re designing weapons for a war when you have no real evidence that such as war will actually happen!”

“Open your eyes, Gaius!” Uther spat. “Of course it’ll happen, it’s been brewing for years-”

“Only if you make it so!” Gaius protested, surging up out of his chair. “Uther, if the press get wind of this-”

“The press won’t be a problem,” Uther dismissed, before freezing as if he’d said something he hadn’t meant to.

“What do you mean?” Gaius pressed. “Uther?”

Uther shook his head and gathered up the papers off the desk, backing out of the room quickly.

“Uther!” Gaius called after him. “What’ve you done?”

The door slammed shut.

********

**November 2008**

Not for the first time, Gaius seriously questioned the life decisions which kept bringing him back to this point – sitting at his desk, listening with a mix of fear and resignation as a Pendragon stood on the other side, unwittingly revealing something that would once again change the game for everyone.

At least, he thought, he’d seen this one coming. He’d more or less orchestrated it. It was just that now, he had to deal with the fallout. And that was never going to be an easy task.

“Did you know about this?” Arthur asked, eyes swimming with furious tears.

Between them, the laptop sat on the desk, looking far too innocuous for an object displaying undeniable evidence that Camelot Technologies, the company relied on by the majority of the population for economic and social stability, was carrying out inhumane and entirely unsanctioned experiments on magic users.

Even under a parliament where most of the MPs were in Uther Pendragon’s pocket, legislation could only go so far. Even Uther didn’t have the power to revoke people’s basic human rights.

Not legally, anyway, Gaius corrected himself as he stared at the screen, at the digital files detailing prisoners’ names, ages, physical appearances, levels of magical ability. The ways in which said ability had been neutralised or drained altogether. How many techniques were required, which ones had lasting mental or physical effects. Which ones resulted in death.

Most of them resulted in death.

He scrolled through, not stopping until he found Freya’s name and confirmed that she was alive. He breathed out slightly – that was one less thing to worry about. Gaius didn’t think the resistance could handle a grief-stricken Aithusa at this point. Their fireproofing capabilities weren’t up to it.

There was nothing on Kilgarrah. Gaius hadn’t expected there to be, not after twenty years, but he was still concerned. All they had to go on was Merlin’s assurances that he’d know if one of the dragons died, as if he hadn’t only known about his abilities as a dragonlord for a year.

“Gaius,” Arthur said again, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the office. “Did you know about this?”

Gaius sighed. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said resolutely, despite the tremor in his voice. “Yes, it matters. You’ve been here since the very beginning, since they started the company. You’re my father’s oldest friend. You know him better than anyone.”

“I don’t know about that,” Gaius said sadly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever truly known Uther, except for…”

He trailed off.

“Except for my mother,” Arthur finished, sagging into the chair on the other side of the desk. He stared down at his clasped hands for a moment, collecting himself. “Would she have agreed with this?” he asked after a while.

Gaius faltered. “It’s hard to say,” he replied. “Your mother would never have supported cruelty towards anyone, but… she was coming from a very different place to your father. She didn’t have to deal with the same responsibilities. Uther does not have the luxury of being able to follow a strict moral code. Everything he does is in a grey area, it has to be.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Arthur spat, suddenly angry. “There’s a line, and he’s crossed it, there’s nothing, _nothing_ that could possibly justify-”

“So you’re saying this is wrong?” Gaius pressed. “That even though these people are sorcerers, that they routinely carry out illegal acts of magic-”

“I don’t care,” Arthur grit out. “They’re still people, and this… this is sick. It’s wrong.”

“Right,” Gaius nodded, breathing out. “Good. That’s that resolved, at least.”

Arthur frowned at that, confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Gaius paused again, trying to decide how best to approach the situation. “How you reacted to this depended on how I would proceed,” he said at last. “When your sister found out-”

Arthur blanched. “Morgana?” he yelped. “She knows? Is that why she-?”

He cut off as his phone buzzed from his pocket, alerting an incoming text.

“Shit,” Arthur mumbled, pulling out his phone and scanning the message. “I have to go, there’s a crisis in HR.”

He stood up from the desk, slamming the laptop closed and putting it back in his bag.

“This isn’t over,” he told Gaius firmly. “I want to know what the hell is going on.”

“I know you do,” Gaius nodded. He hesitated. “Arthur,” he said. “If you really want to know the truth, the entire truth…”

“Yes?” Arthur said impatiently.

“Go to the labs,” Gaius said. “If anyone can get in there and get away with it, it’s you. Find the lowest level. There should be someone there who can help you. But you must not be found out. If you are, all is lost, do you understand?”

“Not even slightly,” Arthur replied, looking a little scared. “I’d rather you just told me.”

Gaius shook his head. “The last time this happened, I grievously mishandled the issue and… a lot of things went wrong. It’s better that you hear it from him.”

“Who is _him?_ ”

“You’ll know when you see him. Tell him I sent you, and that you’re to know everything. About everyone.”

Arthur frowned, obviously conflicted. “I’ll think about it,” he said at last. “But I’ll be back, either way. We’re not finished talking about this.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Gaius said.

Arthur nodded curtly and left, letting the door swing shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur may be able to access heavily guarded information and give insights into the unknowable motivations of humans at war, but never let it be said that he isn't also a ridiculous lump of obliviousness.


	4. Sharing is Caring

**November 2008**

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Gwaine."

"No."

"Gwaine."

"Gwen."

_"Gwaine."_

Lance watched the exchange uncomfortably, eyes flicking between Gwen and the bartender as they growled at each other, their voices echoing ominously in the emptiness of the room.

Pubs always seemed vaguely creepy after closing, he observed, but this one sort of took the biscuit, with its red walls and dark panelling looming ominously in the dim glow of the lights hanging over the pool table.

"How do you know he's not a spy for Camelot Tech?" Gwaine demanded.

"Do you really think we're that stupid? We've run background checks, we've scanned him for bugs and ill-intent. He's clean."

Gwaine snorted. "Like that's supposed to put my mind at rest," he said. "What's it, Alice got all maternal and couldn't bear to leave him out in the cold?"

"Actually, it was Iseldir," Gwen said. "Another of his feelings - the same feelings that led him into convincing everyone that _you_ were trustworthy, by the way, in spite of all your desperate attempts to maintain this ridiculous unprincipled rogue at you've got going on."

Lance shivered, remembering the strange look the old man had given him when he'd heard his name. Like he was watching a movie where he already knew what was going to happen, anticipating the plot through the safety goggles of foresight.

"Who says it's an act?" Gwaine challenged meanwhile.

"The fact that the first thing you did with your inheritance was open a highly illegal magic-friendly pub in the middle of Camden," Gwen retorted.

Gwaine scoffed, but shifted uncomfortably all the same, and Lance knew Gwen had hit the nail on the head. He cleared his throat to speak.

"Look," he said awkwardly. "I don't want to cause trouble - but I really am desperate. I saw way too much secret shit working at Camelot Tech, there's not way I'm not blacklisted by now. They've taken my flat, frozen my accounts, everything. I need work."

"It's not that I'm not sympathetic, mate," Gwaine sighed. "It's that I literally can't even pay you a living wage. Business is on the rocks as it is, I can't afford to be handing out jobs to every poor sod on the run from Uther just because Iseldir has a _feeling."_

"That's why Gaius is willing to offer you a deal," Gwen said, leaning forward so her arms were crossed on the bar.

"What kind of deal?" Gwaine asked suspiciously.

"Take Lance in, give him room and board, let him earn his keep - him and anyone else who might need help - and in return, the resistance will give you the funding you need to keep this place open. You'd have to stop doing business with the smugglers, they're way too risky to have around, but your pub would be safe."

Gwaine frowned. "And me taking this deal, that'd mean joining you lot? Officially, I mean. This place would be one of your safe houses, and I'd be a member of the resistance."

"Exactly."

"Right. In that case, no fucking way."

_"Gwaine."_

"I join you lot, I lose half my customers!" Gwaine snapped.

"You've already lost them!" Gwen argued. "Tell me, who of Morgause's followers have you seen in person since last year? You know as well as I do that none of them are showing their faces in public. Even Tauren-"

"Oh fuck off, don't be dragging up Tauren on top of everything else," Gwaine growled. "I don't need a guilt trip from you, Gwen."

"That's not what I'm trying to do! I just think that if you stop and think for one second-"

"That, what, I'll suddenly decide I'm all for sitting round the campfire singing kumbaya with a bunch of freaks and old people?"

Lance frowned, feeling this was a low blow, and was about to step in, but Gwen refused to back down.

"Don't give me that bullshit, Gwaine O'Shea," she snarled. "You always do this, pretend like you don't give a shit, hide behind your bluster and act like you're not terrified. You don't fool me, you hear?" Gwaine flinched, and Gwen pressed further. "Tell me the truth, Gwaine. Why won't you work with us? What are you so afraid of?"

Gwaine clenched his fists on the bar-top and shook his head.

"Gwaine, for god's sake!"

_"It means taking sides!"_ Gwaine burst out. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that if you want to survive, you don't fucking take sides, not officially, not in a way people can use against you. My dad did, and look what happened to him - black bag over his head, shoved in the back of a van, never seen or heard from again."

"Exactly what happened to my dad, then," Gwen grit out, leaning across the bar into Gwaine's space, regal and commanding and ablaze with righteous anger. "Not to mention Sefa's, and Gilli's. Edwin's mum. Merlin's dad. We've all lost people, Gwaine. We all know what it's like. But you can either sit there stewing in your grief and self-pity for the rest of your miserable life, or you can do what we did. You can put that grief to good use and help us, help your friends. Get up off your arse and _do the fucking work."_

Lance found himself leaning forwards slightly, enraptured by the passion in her voice. Gwaine, on the other hand, was staring down at the bar, his face wracked with guilt, shaking his head once more.

"I can't," he said quietly.

All the fight went out of Gwen and she appeared to deflate. She slumped down onto one of the barstools, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers, looking drained. Lance looked between them and cleared his throat again.

"Um," he said, and they both glanced at him. "It's probably none of my business," he continued. "But Gwaine, surely you know that if your business was found out, you'd be done for even if you weren't part of the resistance?"

"It's different," Gwaine said through clenched teeth. "This is on _my_ terms. I don't answer to anyone but myself this way. I'm not obligated, I'm not tied down by some screwed-up sense of loyalty to people who only want to use me as a pawn in their chess match."

"I'm sorry, but that's horseshit," Gwen said tiredly. "You like to think you're some unattached drifter type, Gwaine, but look at the facts. In the six years since you opened this pub, how many friends have you made in this community? How many people have you helped?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Gwaine mumbled.

_"Horseshit,"_ Gwen repeated, banging her hand down on the bar. "Look at the other week, when you heard about the new cells in the labs from that builder mate of yours. You could've just ignored it and hoped nobody died, but instead what did you do? You made sure Percy would keep himself safe, and you went straight to Merlin to warn him. You didn't go to Morgause, you didn't warn the smugglers. You warned Merlin, because he's your friend. You can pretend all you like, Gwaine, but you know as well as I do that when the chips are down, your first instinct is to help the people you care about."

Gwaine was scowling by the time Gwen had finished her rant, hands shoved in his pockets like a petulant child. Lance waited, holding his breath.

_"Fine,"_ Gwaine growled at last. "Fine. A trial run. Nothing permanent. And I get final say as to who I take in and when."

Gwen grinned, triumphant. "Welcome to the resistance," she said warmly. "It's all uphill struggles and snarky wizards from here on out. You'll love it."

Gwaine shook his head, smiling slightly in spite of himself. "You just had to bring up Merlin, didn't you?" he grumbled. "Fuck it. 'Least we can die knowing we're noble idiots, rather than just idiots."

"That's the spirit," Gwen said, patting his arm. "Now, meet your newest employee."

Gwaine looked over the top of her head at Lance, giving him an appraising once-over. "I'll start you off on dishwashing duty, see how it goes," he said after a minute. "Oh, and you might have to help me threaten some smugglers - they're not going to take kindly to losing their checkpoint. How are you with a blunt weapon?"

Lance scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well - I've held my own against a griffin with a couple of bricks. How bad can a person be after that?"

"Oh, mate," Gwaine said with a short laugh. "You haven't met Sophia."

********

Arthur couldn't move. He'd gone entirely numb. As a matter of fact, he wasn't sure how he was still standing. The torch he'd just dropped rocked gently back and forth on the stone floor at his feet, making a small tinkling noise in the broken glass that echoed through the cavern. He was already struggling to process what he'd seen in the labs on his way down through the various levels, the horrifying confirmation of Uther's crimes.

He forced down the images of cages covered in white sheets, of rows upon rows of identical metal doors and blood splatters on the floor, of the agonised groans and screams that reverberated horrifyingly in the darkness of the building.

He had to deal with the issue at hand.

"How small you are, for such a great destiny," the dragon boomed.

Arthur opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

"I..."

The dragon cocked its head to the side, looking impatient. Arthur didn't know a dragon had the capacity to look impatient, but then, up until a few moments ago he'd also been under the impression that dragons had been extinct for twenty years.

Clearly, he was not even slightly in the loop where dragons were concerned

"You're... you're a..." he heard himself say over the faint buzzing in his ears.

The dragon huffed. Arthur felt his hair ruffle in the sudden breeze.

"I've waited a long time for this moment, young Pendragon," it said. "Considering how the prophecies speak of your strength and wisdom, I had hoped you would be a little quicker on the uptake."

Arthur blinked several times and forced himself to focus.

"Right," he mumbled. "Fuck. Ok. Dragons."

He scrubbed his hands over his face a few times and looked up again. The dragon was watching him calmly, waving its tail back and forth like a cat.

"Ready now?" it asked.

"I suppose," Arthur said. "First thing's first - you're meant to be dead. You and all your kind. You were all killed during the purge."

"Well, clearly we weren't," the dragon replied.

"Clearly," Arthur agreed. "Forgive my asking, but why not? If you're down here, my father has to know about it, which means he's been purposefully keeping you alive for the past two decades. That can't be cheap, if the size of you is any indication of the amount of food you eat."

"Much better," the dragon said approvingly. "There may be hope for you yet."

"Answer the question," Arthur replied shortly.

The dragon made an alarming rumbling noise which Arthur belatedly realised was a laugh. "Uther keeps me alive for two reasons," it said. "The first is that he sees me as a trophy, of sorts. A mark of his triumph over my kind, dragons and dragonlords alike."

"Dragonlords," Arthur repeated, sifting through the information in his head, trying to remember where he'd heard the phrase before. Old newspaper headlines from the 1980s flashed across his consciousness, along with words like 'riot' and 'manhunt' and 'mass arrests'. "They were a sect of sorcerers, weren't they?"

"Of sorts, yes," the dragon confirmed. "They were our kin, our links with the human world. They had the power to control us, but most did their best not to exploit this ability."

Arthur frowned. "That's not how I've read it," he countered. "All the records and reports say they were radicals, that they used scare tactics to try and control things like land development."

"Ah, yes. And by that, they mean to say that the dragonlords did their best to prevent casualties during the territory disputes that were caused by the increase in urbanisation in the decades following the Second World War," the dragon reeled off. "Unfortunately, they were not always able. The government and many large corporations insisted on expansion into the lands traditionally occupied by dragons. Despite the dragonlords' best efforts, they could not subdue the dragons' territorial instincts. Many of my kind, and yours, were killed in the conflicts."

Pieces started to slot together in Arthur's head as he processed this. "What's the second reason?" he asked after a few moments.

"Research," the dragon said simply, shifting to reveal a huge, gaping wound in its side where it looked like the scales had been brutally ripped away.

Arthur bit back a gasp and moved closer for a better look. Now that he was over his initial panic, he could see that the dragon was not in good shape. It was missing several teeth, the scales around its eyes were cracked and dry, and Arthur could see that most of its claws were gone, leaving its feet a bloody, mutilated mess.

Swallowing back a wave of nausea, he looked up to meet the dragon's calm, golden stare once more. "My father did this?" he asked quietly.

The dragon inclined its huge head in confirmation. Arthur clenched his jaw, desperate not to believe it, but he knew his father. He knew far too well how ruthless Uther could be. He'd seen proof of that with his own eyes.

He shook his head violently. "This is wrong," he muttered. "It's sick, it's... god."

The dragon sat back, apparently content to wait for Arthur to work through his disgust.

After a while, Arthur managed to order his thoughts enough to carry on. "Forgive my asking," he said carefully. "But... how did this happen? How did they even capture you in the first place? I mean - you're a _dragon_ for god's sake."

"Uther's persecution of my kind gave him great insight into our strengths and weaknesses," the dragon said. "Tell me, have you heard of a man called Balinor Emrys?"

"Balinor..." Arthur repeated, thinking hard as he tried to narrow down all the research he'd done. Employee lists from the early days of Camelot Tech floated to the surface in his mind. "Yeah, I have. He used to work for the company - a magic consultant, before it was made illegal. He disappeared during the purge. Why, what about him?"

"Balinor was a good friend of mine," the dragon said. "A dragonlord - a direct descendant, in fact, of the one who called me forth from my egg. He and I were members of the resistance when it was first formed in the year 1985."

"This man was involved in your capture?" Arthur frowned. "He betrayed you?"

"Not of his own free will. He was manipulated into it by your father."

Arthur groaned, passing a hand over his face. "Of course, my father," he groused. "If I had any sense at all, I'd dismiss this all as an attempt to manipulate me against my own family for your own personal gain."

The dragon looked at him levelly. "Is that what you believe?"

"No," Arthur admitted. "Finally, I feel like this mess is starting to make sense. Tell me about Balinor. I'll decide if I believe you or not when you've finished."

"Very well," the dragon nodded, shifting slightly as if to make itself comfortable. "It was the second year of the purge. Militant sorcerers and Uther's mercenaries were fighting openly in the streets. Attempts by the police and army to take control of the situation were futile, and by that point, many of them were already under the control of Colonel Olaf Bainbridge, one of Uther's most powerful allies.

"The resistance was doing what it could to keep innocent magic users out of the crossfire and prevent losses on all sides, but it was difficult, what with their being so few of us. Meanwhile, dragons were literally falling from the skies - Uther had somehow managed to develop a way to neutralise our firepower and our magic."

Arthur did his best to process the rapid stream of information as he went. "Right," he said. "And these militant sorcerers - they were followers of Nimueh?"

"For the most part, yes," the dragon said. "However it's important to note that the members of the resistance, at this point, were not."

"I see," Arthur said. "Sorry. Carry on."

"After a series of violent attacks in which many civilians were killed, along with the majority of my remaining kin, Balinor received a message from Uther, calling for a brief ceasefire. Uther claimed that he was weary of the bloodshed, and sought means to end the conflict peacefully, face-to-face."

Arthur snorted in spite of himself. In twenty four years, he'd never known his father to favour peace over conflict.

The dragon let out another amused rumble. "Quite," it said. "Obviously, Balinor knew Uther was lying to lure him into a trap. But he nevertheless saw an opportunity. I believe he thought that if he could get close to Uther, he could access the designs for the magic-neutralising weapons and work out defences against them."

"And what really happened?"

"The second Balinor arrived at the meeting place he and Uther agreed upon - not far from where this building now stands - it became clear that even if he was walking into a trap with his eyes open, he was still walking into a trap. Uther had somehow gotten his hands on what was believed to be the last nest of dragon eggs in the country, possibly the world. He threatened to destroy them if Balinor did not summon me to them."

"Why did he want you in particular?"

"By this point, I was the oldest and most powerful of the remaining dragons. He believed that my capture would bring our movement to its knees once and for wall, and also provide him with ideas for new, more powerful weapons, for that is all he thinks dragons are. The perfect weapons. The eggs, on the other hand, though vital to the future of dragonkind, were of no use to him other than as bargaining chips."

"So Balinor sacrificed you to protect the eggs."

"He had no choice. It was that, or doom the future of my species for good. Of course, as soon as I had been shot out of the air and chained in cold iron, Uther destroyed the eggs anyway. Balinor was only able to rescue one before he escaped. He hid it and himself away, and I was kept here, where I still await my rescue."

"Rescue? Someone's coming for your, after all this time?"

"Correct."

"Who? Balinor?"

"Heavens, no. Balinor is dead," the dragon dismissed, though its eyes betrayed a profound sadness. "He was killed shortly before the end of the purge."

"Then who?"

"Balinor is dead," the dragon repeated. "But his son lives. He continues to fight for peace and freedom, along with the rest of the resistance."

"They're still going then," Arthur said, a strange mix of relief and alarm settling in his stomach. "I wasn't sure before. Uther seems convinced that the movement died when Nimueh did, even while every sorcerer arrested theses days is accused of pushing her agenda."

"When in fact, those who actually do so remain in the shadows, out of sight, preparing to strike as one," the dragon growled.

"So they did go to ground after she died?" Arthur guessed. "I wondered. But then, why does the persecution of magic users continue? It can't really all be down to my father and his personal prejudices."

"Oh, but it can," the dragon said sadly. "Uther is driven by all-consuming grief and an insatiable desire for vengeance. That's a dangerous combination. When it is met with the need for retribution that is felt by almost every sorcerer who faced the loss of a loved one at the hands of Uther's crusade..."

"Like Mary Collins, the witch who tried to kill me last month," Arthur recalled. "She was screaming about her son when she was being dragged away - he must have been taken by my father's men, and she wanted revenge. But the official report was that she was acting in Nimueh's name."

"The media wouldn't dare imply that Uther could have had a hand in causing such an incident," the dragon said. "It's much easier, much safer, to fall back on the name of an old enemy, one who is no longer seen as a significant threat."

Arthur nodded and stayed silent for a while, thinking. "How do you even know all this?" he asked at last. "You've been trapped underground for twenty years - this could all just be the speculation of a mad old lizard."

"I know a lot of things, young Pendragon," the dragon said ominously. "It is not only seers who are burdened with the gift of prophecy."

"So you know everything that's happened since the purge?" Arthur asked sceptically, raising an eyebrow. "Everything that's going to happen?"

"Correct."

"So you'd know all about when I first came to work at Camelot Tech-"

"At the age of sixteen, as an intern," the dragon interrupted. "On your first day, you succeeded in breaking no less than three photocopiers, yelled at two of your superiors, lost the respect of the entire canteen staff when you insulted their food, and stopped your father from firing Tom Smith, who disappeared six years later."

A chill ran down Arthur's spine as he stared at the dragon. It met his gaze calmly, no hint of guile visible in its eyes.

"Fine," Arthur rasped. "Let's say I believe you. What of the resistance now? What are they doing?"

"That has become a complex issue," the dragon said. "There are currently two main factions calling themselves the resistance, with several more, such as the druids, caught in between. The first group is the one concerned with continuing the work of Nimueh, led by a witch called Morgause. However, they are not your immediate concern."

"Then what is?"

"The other faction, the one that I associate with. They currently have three operatives working within the walls of this establishment, waiting for you to join their side."

"Of course they do," Arthur sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Is security really so lax these days?"

"Yes," the dragon said matter-of-factly. "The harder Uther tightens his grip, the more cracks are created for people to slip through. But it may be of some comfort to know that one of them has been here since the very beginning, and that therefore the somewhat ironic failing security of what was originally a security system manufacturer is not to blame."

"Oh yes, very comforting," Arthur nodded mock-seriously, knowing he was acting childish and not caring. "Who is it? Give me a name."

"Gaius Granby."

There was a long pause while a lot of Arthur's questions about the old man answered themselves in one go.

"Suddenly, a lot of things make a lot more sense," he mumbled. He shook himself, resolving to come back to that later. "Who are the other two?"

"The second is the daughter of the man whose job you saved all those years ago. I believe you know her. She works in the IT department, under the alias Gwen Thomson. Her real name is Gwen Smith." 

"Gwen?" Arthur's eyebrows flicked up in surprise. "Yes, I know her. She's friends with my assistant, he's always hovering around her desk instead of doing his work."

"Ah," the dragon rumbled, looking amused, of all things. "This assistant - is he someone you know well?"

"Not much to know, really," Arthur shrugged. "Bit of an idiot. Poor social skills. Incompetent in most things. But he makes decent coffee, so I keep him around. Why?"

"No reason," the dragon said, looking far too pleased about something.

"Right," Arthur said, disconcerted. "Look, we're getting off topic. Who's the last one?"

"The son of Balinor," the dragon said. "He came to the company only recently, sent with the mission of freeing myself and another prisoner from this building. So far he has been unsuccessful - I understand he has been kept rather busy in his new job. It is my hope that since you were so easily able to break in here, you will assist him in his task."

Arthur scoffed. "You want me to break you, a dragon, and some convicted sorcerer, out of the industrial park's most heavily-monitored building?" he repeated, incredulous. "You do realise how insane that sounds? For god's sake, getting in here by myself was hard enough, there's no way something like that won't be found out and traced back to me! It's suicide!"

"Luckily, you will have Balinor's son working with you," the dragon insisted. "He is a warlock of immense power and skill. The only reason he has not yet succeeded is because he does not have your unparalleled knowledge of the inner workings of this company, nor you talent for strategy and stealth. Together, you will be a force to be reckoned with."

Arthur laughed softly and shook his head. "I'll take your word for it," he said. "What's this bloke's name, in any case?"

"I believe you can work it out," the dragon said. "You are a young man of great intelligence."

"It'd be easier if you just told me," Arthur said.

"Yes, it would," the dragon agreed.

"But you're not going to."

"No."

"Right," Arthur mumbled, suddenly exhausted. "God. Ok. This has been a lot to process. A lot. I'm going to home now."

"A wise decision," the dragon said, nodding sagely. "Until next time, young Pendragon."

"Next time. Bloody hell."

Arthur left the cavern the same way he'd come, trying not to think about how his head should have been ringing with the strangeness of it all, but decidedly wasn't.

********

It wasn't until later, after Arthur had spent a good portion of the early hours poring over endless employee records, trying to discern who had recently joined the company, who seemed like they had something to hide, and coming up completely short, that it finally occurred to him.

He sat bolt-upright in bed, wide awake with the sudden realisation of how a clumsy engineering intern would be able to block out a witch's sleeping curse and move quickly enough to drag Arthur out of the path of a flying dagger.

"Fuck."

 

 

 

 


	5. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck me, it speaks. 
> 
> Been a while. Don't have any excuse really. Oh well. Sorry I guess.

**December 2008**

"Look, all I'm saying is you've been acting very strangely lately. Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine, Leon, really. I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

Leon sighed and took a sip of coffee, watching his friend worriedly over the rim of his mug. Arthur appeared to be lost in thought, staring into the foam on his cappuccino as if it held the secrets of the universe. He'd been on edge for weeks now, and Leon knew he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

The silence stretched awkwardly, a little island of quiet in the bustle and noise of the cafe.

"Any plans for Christmas?" he asked at last, not missing how Arthur's shoulders deflated with relief at the change in subject.

"Not really," Arthur shrugged. "Probably just the usual dinner with father. Yourself?"

"I thought about going home, but I'm not sure I can face the traffic around Wiltshire this time of year. The pagans will be out in full force, trying to get to Stonehenge in time for the solstice. Not to mention the police roadblocks, the picketers..."

Arthur sighed, probably imagining all the delightful things his father would have to say on the subject. "I can imagine," he said. "Why don't your parents move? It must be a pain for them, having to deal with that twice a year."

"They say it'd be giving in," Leon replied exasperatedly. "As if the stones have been carved into giant effigies of Nimueh herself."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow, looking up. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

Leon felt his eyes widen as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Nothing!" he said hastily, scrambling for a way to backtrack. "I just meant - it seems like - uh-"

"Leon, calm down," Arthur said, looking mildly amused. "I'm just interested to hear your thoughts on the matter, I'm not going to hand you over to the authorities for having an opinion."

Leon hesitated for a moment, wary of a trap, before he remembered that this was _Arthur_ _,_ who he'd known since childhood, and let himself relax. "I just think the matter is oversimplified," he said carefully. "People tend to think that if someone's a pagan, they must also be a sorcerer hell-bent on exterminating anyone... anyone normal."

"And you disagree?"

"Not exactly - I know enough about recent history to know that many pagans are like that. But statistically, they can't all be. I know their numbers have - ah - taken a hit these past years, but there's an awful lot of them still practicing. A group that big has to have variation in their principles and beliefs, it's just the way people work."

Arthur was watching him speculatively. "So why do you think so many people view pagans the way they do?"

Leon recognised the look in his friend's eye and knew Arthur was asking him for a reason, so he thought carefully before he answered. "People fear what they don't understand," he said. "And they don't understand pagans. Not anymore."

Arthur eyed him for another moment, before giving a short nod and going back to his coffee. "I suppose that's one way of putting it," he said quietly.

Leon frowned, feeling he'd missed something significant, but Arthur was already talking about yesterday's footie scores. Leon ignored the nagging feeling in his gut and threw himself into defending Arsenal with all his heart and soul.

********

"I saw Tauren today," Morgause said around a mouthful of curry. "Apparently Gwaine's cutting the smugglers off, told them to take their business elsewhere. I think he might have joined Gaius' people."

Morgana didn't look up from where she was turning a piece of chicken over and over with her fork. "They're drawing together," she said quietly. "Recruiting again - I keep dreaming about people I don't recognise. I think they're preparing for something."

"Any idea what?" Morgause asked. She stopped trying to meet her sister's eye and tore of a piece of naan, using it to mop of some of the sauce on her plate.

"Not yet. It's too hazy. I was going to ask Sefa about it tomorrow, see if she heard anything while she was with them."

"She's in Scotland, remember, tracking down Ruadan's colleagues. She'll be back next week. In the meantime, maybe ask Mordred. He'll still be expected to carry out his duties as envoy as long as the druids keep some semblance of unity."

"I don't see how any of it will help," Morgana sighed. She dropped her fork and sat back, reaching for her drink. "Even if we manage to work out what they're planning, what good will it do us? It's not like we have enough people on our side to derail them, not if we want to keep our focus on the plan."

"Not yet," Morgause said, trying to sound encouraging. "But even as we speak our forces are regrouping - and once we've found what we're looking for, we'll never want for support again. Be patient, Morgana."

Morgana didn't reply, staring into her glass with an empty expression.

"Who can you see?" Morgause prompted. "Is it her?"

"No," Morgana replied absently. "Uther again."

She dropped the glass, water splashing everywhere, and stood up abruptly, knocking her chair to the floor with a clatter.

"Morgana-"

"He won't leave me alone," Morgana bit out, before disappearing in the direction of her room.

Morgause sighed and carried on eating, ignoring the puddle spreading rapidly across the table.

********

Merlin shifted uneasily under Arthur's scrutinizing gaze as he shuffled into the office with a fresh cup of coffee and a pile of folders some lackey from sales had dumped on him to deliver.

Arthur had been squinting at him oddly for days now and didn't show any indication of stopping any time soon, no matter how often Merlin checked the mirror for bits of food in his teeth or rumpled clothes or anything else that might make him look a but odd (or at least, odder than usual).

The air in the office was tense as Merlin set the coffee and files down on the desk. He cleared his throat.

"Was there anything else, sir?"

Arthur didn't answer, just kept staring. Merlin frowned and reached out to wave in front of his face.

"Arthur? You in there?"

Arthur blinked and batted Merlin's hand away with a scowl.

"Leave off, you idiot."

"Sorry, sir," Merlin said, backing off with his hands raised apologetically. "Just - is there something the matter? You've been looking at me strange for days now, and I know you think my clothes are tragic and that but I'd have thought you'd be used to them by now, or at least able to compartmentalize like you seem to do with all your emotions, like how you never smile or-"

"Martin."

"Yes sir?"

"Shut up."

"Sorry, sir."

Silence fell again. Arthur let out a long breath and rubbed his forehead like he was getting a migraine. Merlin shoved his hands in his pockets and waited.

"I just - I'm having trouble reconciling something in my head, and it's making me distracted and... dizzy."

"Anything I can help with?" Merlin asked in his best trying-to-be-helpful voice.

Arthur didn't respond, just let out a slightly manic-sounding laugh. Merlin weighed his options quickly and decided he should take the opportunity to escape before he got pulled into another profoundly concerning conversation about morality or police reports.

"Right. Um, I'll be off then, I have to go and see Gaius about... yeah. Bye."

He shot off out the door without another word, not waiting to see if Arthur even noticed.

********

Arthur had noticed. The minute Martin had shot out the door he'd slumped back in his chair in relief. It had been over a week since he'd spoken with the dragon, and having his PA in the same room was growing increasingly exhausting with all the doubts and questions that accompanied his presence, on top of trying to reconcile the idea of such an idiot holding so much power and managing to keep it hidden, right under Uther's nose. Arthur got a headache just looking at him.

The need to confront Martin was growing more pressing with every passing day. It was an issue of location, he'd been telling himself. It needed to be done in a place where the conversation wouldn't be monitored or overheard, and where Martin wouldn't be on the defensive and flee as soon as he realised how much Arthur knew. Finding a place like that was always doing to be far easier said than done. He'd stayed in his office all evening, letting all incoming calls go to his answering machine as he ran over scenarios in his mind, trying to decide if Martin was at the very least smart enough to live in a place that wasn't monitored, given his status as an undercover mole in the most powerful and invasive company in the country -

Which brought him to now, navigating the dark streets as he tried to locate the address listed under Martin's name in the employee records, simultaneously cursing the freezing December weather and thanking it for its necessitating large coats and hats and other appearance-obscuring garments.

He walked as inconspicuously as possible, dodging wheelie bins and dog shit as the streets grew steadily less and less familiar. His breath caught every time a car or van trundled past, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground against the too-bright headlights, willing himself not to be recognised. He was less worried about the other people in the street, all of them either coming from work themselves and therefore focused on nothing but thoughts of home and warmth and rest, or else huddled against the wall, setting up for the night with far bigger things to be worrying about than who happened to be walking past at that moment.

He finally found the street that had been named in Martin's file, a row of rickety terraced houses that seemed to have been converted into flats. He started along the pavement, peering through the darkness at the house numbers until he found number 16. He hurried up the short flight of steps leading to the front door and scanned the names listed next to the doorbells. There was an 'M. Rhys' listed next to the bell for the basement flat. He only let himself hesitate for a moment before he took a deep breath and pressed it.

Nothing happened. No voice crackling over the outdated intercom, no click of the door opening. Arthur frowned and pressed it again. Still nothing.

He backed away from the door and went to crouch in front of the tiny window set into the very bottom of the wall, cupping his hands against the glass as he tried to see into the flat, growling in frustration when it proved fruitless. Either Martin was out, or he was oddly fond of sitting at home in complete darkness.

Heaving a sigh, Arthur considered his options. With resignation, he moved back to the front door and sat down on the steps to wait.

********

"I don't understand," Merlin said blankly. "You're telling me Arthur's been to the labs?"

"I am."

"And he's spoken to Kilgarrah?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"And he knows about the resistance."

"I'd be surprised if Kilgarrah hasn't told him everything."

"And you're only just telling me this now? I mean, he knows about us? And, and Gwen, and..."

"I don't see how I can make it any clearer," Gaius said, raising an irritated eyebrow from where he was sat behind his desk, stirring his tea and somehow managing to make the clink of the spoon against the cup sound disparaging.

"Right. Sorry. Um." Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair and paced back and forth a few times, trying to gather his thoughts. "Ok. Ok. So, first question: how the fuck did he even get down there in the first place? I still can't get anywhere near the lab, I've been trying for bloody _ages,_ and I can bloody well pass through doors!"

"Arthur has the advantage of having access to all of the company databases. That means he can access building blueprints, guard schedules, security codes - it's not your fault that you don't have this information, few do - I believe Uther and possibly Agravaine are the only others."

Merlin huffed but conceded the point. "Right, fine. So he's got all this innate talent for subversion and he's apparently already on track to be overthrowing Uther all by himself, resistance or no."

Gaius frowned. "What point are you trying to make?"

"Why the hell am I here?" Merlin demanded. "Between you, Arthur and Gwen, it looks like you've already got everything covered, why did you even bring me inside?"

Gaius sighed and took a sip of his tea before he answered. "To begin with, we brought you in for the original plan, to break Kilgarrah and Freya out of the labs. At the time, we had no idea Uther would make you Arthur's PA, and we didn't know how Arthur would react upon discovering the truth about his father. If he'd turned out to support what is happening in the labs, then your task would have been to run interference with him while covertly attempting to use his connections to continue the rescue mission."

"But as things are now?"

"As things are now, he's in position to be brought into the resistance, and in on the mission. He'll still need your help - no amount of memorizing floor plans will help him in releasing an angry dragon if he doesn't have a dragonlord with him to keep control of the situation."

Merlin froze. "You think Kilgarrah will attack?"

"Of course he will, boy!" Gaius exclaimed. "He's been trapped underground for twenty years, unable to fly, being stripped for parts! Don't you see, you and Arthur both have vital roles to play - even with Freya. Arthur may be able to find out where she's being held and how to get her out, but it wouldn't do at all to have the first face she sees after a traumatic imprisonment to be that of a Pendragon. It's crucial that you're there when she's freed."

Merlin sighed and passed a hand over his face. "Fuck," he mumbled into his palm.

Gaius gave him a rare sympathetic grimace as a rattling noise sounded from inside the locked top drawer of the desk, signalling an incoming message from one of the others. He opened it and took out a sheet of his enchanted paper, on which a message was being steadily copied over from where another resistance member was writing it on the page it was linked to.

Merlin took advantage of the sudden quiet as Gaius read the message to take some deep breaths and sit himself down in an empty chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"So," he said after a minute. "I'll need to talk to Arthur, then? How do I go about it?"

"Rather easily, as it turns out," Gaius said, not looking up from the note. "Edwin's on patrol tonight - apparently Arthur's outside your flat right now."

********

Arthur couldn't feel his legs. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sat on the freezing steps, staring into space - his mind, overwhelmed and exhausted, had gone past whizzing through possible outcomes and contingency plans, and had reached a dull sort of bemused buzzing.

The sound of footsteps approaching along the quiet street didn't register with Arthur until they stopped in front of him. He looked up apprehensively to find Martin stood before him, hands shoved in his coat pockets against the winter chill, an unfamiliarly serious expression on his face, made unnerving by the shadows cast in the orange glare of the streetlights.

"Arthur," he greeted quietly.

"Martin," Arthur returned, his own voice sounding cold and foreign in his ears.

Martin breathed out and looked up and down the street, before turning back to Arthur. "Let's talk inside."

Arthur nodded and stood up, shaking the numbness out of his legs as Martin dug in his pockets for his keys. The door creaked and clicked as it was shoved open, echoing in the dank, narrow hallway that smelled strongly of cigarettes. He followed Martin silently down a flight of stairs to the basement door, where he was brought to a halt by Martin's hesitation.

"What?" he asked.

"I don't know how much he told you, about - about me," Martin started, looking uncertain.

There was a beat of silence while Arthur worked out what he was trying to say. He took in the way Martin glanced at the door, the way the hand holding his keys had lowered away from the lock, his free hand clenching and unclenching awkwardly. He huffed a mirthless laugh when the penny dropped.

"He told me everything," he said. "Do what you must."

Martin bit his lip but nodded. He turned back to the door and mumbled a few words. Nothing visible happened, but Arthur sensed something shift in the air, and felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water down his spine.

Magic. Martin had just done magic, and Arthur had let him.

He pushed down the blind panic rising in his chest, determined not to let it out until this was over.

Martin shouldered the door open and went into the flat, flicking on a light switch just inside the threshold. Arthur followed him in, blinking to let his eyes adjust in the gloom as the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling slowly brightened up.

The door shut behind them with a thud.

Martin muttered something at the door, presumably to re-do whatever he'd done to let them enter. Arthur studiously ignored it in favour of examining the space before him.

The flat appeared to consist mainly of one room, with bare walls and floors, and no furniture. A few damp-looking cardboard boxes were piled in one corner, and a camping mat with a sleeping bag rolled up on top occupied another, next to a half-packed suitcase with clothes spilling out onto the floorboards. A hotplate and kettle were plugged in under the small, grimy window with a few packets of cup-a-soup heaped forlornly on the side. 

When Martin had finished with the door, he came to stand next to Arthur, looking immensely uncomfortable.

"We can talk freely," he said, his voice stilted and subdued, so different from his usual uninhibited babbling. "The wards keep anyone on the outside hearing anything within, and block any attempts at spying with magic. Anyone trying to monitor this place electronically will only pick up static. I've modified the door to respond to you, so you can leave whenever you want."

Arthur nodded numbly, still staring around the miserable room, trying to get his head around the idea of cheerful, silly Martin living in such squalor and still being able to come into work every day with a smile on his face.

But then, he was already well aware that his assistant was a practiced and accomplished liar. What was one more deception to add to the pile?

"This is where you live?" he asked.

"Not always," Martin replied. "I needed a verifiable address to keep up appearances at the company, so I sleep here when I need to, but it's not safe to have a permanent residence. Also, our other safe houses are much nicer."

Arthur nodded again, feeling like one of the bobbing plastic toys people kept on their dashboards.

Martin hovered for another moment before making his way over to the boxes in the corner, dragging a couple out and sitting down heavily on one of them, ignoring the buckling cardboard. Arthur followed suit.

They sat across from each other and stared at each other in silence. Eventually, Arthur cleared his throat.

"So," he said. "I have some questions."

"And I have some answers," Martin replied.

Arthur hummed an acknowledgement and rubbed his hands together slowly, trying to decide where to start. He opted for the most obvious issue.

"You're an instrumental member of the underground resistance," he said. "You were sent to infiltrate my father's company, and you've been working to dismantle everything my family has built over the past twenty years."

"That's... essentially accurate, yes," Martin said frankly.

Arthur glared at him. "You saved my life," he said.

"I did."

"You're a sorcerer. A powerful one. A dragonlord on top of that. You, my idiot assistant, have more power at your fingertips than the average person could dream of having."

"Actually." Martin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm not technically a sorcerer. I'm a warlock."

"What's the difference?"

"Mostly it's a question of how much magic a person has - sorcerers are born with less, and need to be taught to be able to use what power they have. I have more than most, and I needed to be taught to control what I could already do."

"Born with," Arthur repeated. "My father's always insisted that people - people like you - that they chose magic, that they corrupted themselves in exchange for power."

"Did you believe him?"

Arthur hesitated, and slowly shook his head. "No," he said. "Even if I accepted what he said at face value when I was younger, I'd hear about the children who'd cause accidents and get shot down by the mercenaries, or the people with magic trying to flee the country and getting caught at the border, and I'd just... it didn't make sense, even back then."

Martin nodded sadly, looking down at his clasped hands. "Those people, the vast majority of them, will have been innocent. They were born with magic, the same way you were born with blue eyes. They were just trying to live their lives peacefully, without fear. Do you believe me?"

There was further silence as Arthur struggled with himself. "Yes," he said at last. "Though for the life of me, I can't think why. I don't even know you."

"So get to know me," Martin offered. "Ask me something."

"How can I know you're telling the truth?"

"You can trust in the fact that I'm risking just as much as you are right now."

"You could be using me to push some magical supremacy agenda."

"But you know that I'm not."

"You could be a plant, working for my father to expose me as a traitor."

"If that were true, you wouldn't be here right now," Martin pointed out, far too matter-of-fact. "You'd have been dead the minute you showed me that police report."

Arthur's gut felt like ice at the thought, but he knew his father too well to be able to tell Martin he was wrong. He steeled himself. "What's your real name?" he asked. "It's not Martin Rhys."

Martin nodded slowly, a little of his usual light-hearted expression crossing his face. "Merlin," he said. "My name's Merlin Emrys."

********

Merlin watched Arthur's face carefully. A small flicker of amusement was visible in his eyes.

"If there was an award for least creative alias of all time, you'd be a sure winner," he said.

Merlin allowed himself a small chuckle that got caught in the back of his throat. "It was Gaius' idea. He said I'm enough of an idiot to forget anything too different from my real name. Personally, I think it was more for his benefit - he's getting on a bit, his memory's not what it was."

"He always seems sharp enough to me," Arthur returned, raising an eyebrow. "A little too sharp, even, for man his age."

"He's been hiding his true identity for almost his entire adult life. That's enough to put anyone on edge."

Arthur breathed out slowly, trying to mull this over. "He must have been hiding since he started working for Camelot Tech, if not longer. But that's longer than magic has been banned, and even my father hired magic consultants to begin with. Why did he hide it?"

Merlin shrugged, pushing back a wash of grief at the indirect mention of his father. "You'd have to ask him to be sure, but I'd guess it's mostly just because magic was never his chosen vocation. He was hired as an engineer because he is an engineer - the magic is secondary, even though he's a better sorcerer than most. And he's always been good at reading people. I think he must have picked up on Uther's dislike of magic pretty early on."

"That's assuming my father's always felt about magic as he feels now."

"I think it's safe to say there's always been something there. Prejudice like that just doesn't happen overnight, although there must have been some pretty big thing to finish him off and push him into starting the purge."

"But you don't know what that was?"

Merlin shook his head. "I'm pretty sure Gaius does, but he won't tell me anything. Says it's not his to share or mine to know."

Arthur stared off into space, a troubled expression on his face. Then he directed his gaze at Merlin and shook his head, making an incredulous sort of noise.

"What?" Merlin asked.

"This is surreal," Arthur mumbled, looking away again. "I had this whole image of you in my head as a complete dunce who sometimes made reasonable coffee and couldn't hold a proper conversation to save his life. And now we're sat in a bloody hideout talking about things that would get us blackbagged if we were overheard, and - this whole situation, it's... I don't know, it's messing with my head. Was it all just an act, the grinning moron thing?"

"Just part of my charm," Merlin said, smiling slightly. He paused, and decided it was time to get to the point. "Look, Arthur - you sort of need to make a decision now. If you're in or not. If you're not, then I'll need to wipe your memory and carry on at the company while secretly working to undermine your father and complete my mission - given your position, it's far too dangerous for you to be walking around with this information if you're not with us. If you're in, then I need your help. I don't know if Kilgarrah told you what needs to be done-"

"He told me," Arthur replied distractedly. "We're to work together to break him and another of your group out of the labs."

Merlin nodded. "You'd be working against your father, putting yourself in immense amounts of danger - but you'd be saving innocent lives, and helping put an end to a twenty-year reign of terror. And I know you're a good man, for all that you act like a massive prat. So all that remains is - are you in?"

Arthur didn't reply for a long time, staring down at the floor, obviously arguing with himself in his head. Merlin waited patiently, focusing instead on checking the wards and expanded his consciousness to make sure the surrounding area was still clear of eavesdroppers and monitoring equipment.

After what seemed like an age, Arthur looked up and met Merlin's eye. "I'm in," he said sincerely. 

Relief blossomed in Merlin's chest and he gave Arthur a firm nod. "Then we've got work to do."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the very nice comments and stuff, by the way. I keep failing to reply but they're very nice and encouraging :D


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